


between the teeth

by youcouldmakealife



Series: between the teeth [57]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 08:01:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8393572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “They want me,” David says, and it’s — strange, saying that, like it’s suddenly real now.





	

When the clock strikes midnight on New Year’s, David’s sitting in a hotel room. This isn’t the first time he’s spent New Year’s in a hotel, and he’s sure it’s not going to be the last. He doesn’t mind it the way most of the Capitals seem to, especially considering they’re playing the Winter Classic that afternoon in front of almost 70,000 hostile fans at Heinz Field. David’s looking forward to it.

The next week will include the Winter Classic, three other games, one of which is in Sunrise, David’s twenty-sixth birthday, and the unveiling of Team Canada’s Olympic roster. It’s probably the most eventful start to a year that he’s ever experienced. He thinks it should feel like a lot, feel overwhelming, and it sort of does, but not in a bad way, he doesn’t think.

Still, fifteen minutes before midnight he slipped out of Quincy’s room, where most of the unattached guys congregated because Quincy’s wife was due, well, yesterday, and Quincy said they’d be damned if their kid was born in Pittsburgh. He just left to take a call from Kiro, but once he was off the phone he was reluctant to return to the crush, the noise, preferred to pass midnight in the relative quiet of his room, laughing when texts from Kiro, Emily, and Jake arrived almost simultaneously, every single one of them including the kiss emoticon.

Soon after midnight someone bangs on his door, and David tucks his phone in his pocket, goes to answer it.

“You disappeared,” Robbie says. “How was I gonna give you a New Year’s kiss if you disappeared?”

“I’m sure you gave it to someone equally deserving,” David says.

“Not untrue,” Robbie says. “I’m not going to be able to convince you to come back to Cap Q’s room, huh?”

“It’s already past midnight,” David says. “We have a game this afternoon.”

“Like five minutes past,” Robbie says. “And don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll send us all to bed in an hour like the good boring almost-dad he is.”

“I’m just going to head to bed,” David says.

“Fine,” Robbie says, sighing loudly. “Can I steal some hair gel first, though? I saw my reflection and it was not a pretty sight.”

“Hair gel before you go to bed in an hour?” David asks sceptically, but then says, “Fine,” when Robbie gives him a pleading look.

Robbie’s in the bathroom, humming loudly and presumably fixing his hair, which is admittedly looking…not great, when David’s phone goes off again.

“I couldn’t get away until now,” Jake says. “Happy New Year.”

“You too,” David says. 

“Is that Volkie?” Robbie asks, somehow suddenly right behind David, then snatches David’s phone out of his hand. “Hi Volkie!”

“Wrong Panther,” Jake says, tinny and distant but still audible, and David can hear the grin in his voice.

“Hi Lourdey,” Robbie says. “David got that gooey smile on his face so I figured it was Volkie.”

“Robbie,” David hisses, grabbing for his phone, but Robbie just cackles and ducks away. He puts it on speaker phone while he’s at it, and David can hear Jake laughing.

“You’re killing my self-confidence, Bardi,” Jake says.

“Whatever, you know what’s up with your boo and his boo,” Robbie says.

“Go away, Robbie,” David says, and then, because he’s concerned Robbie will take him at his word and only that, “And give me my phone.”

“Fine,” Robbie says. “I know when I’m not wanted.”

“Because I literally just told you,” David says.

Jake laughs again, and David grins.

“You should see the look on his face right now, Lourdes, it’s so sappy I’m gonna throw up,” Robbie says.

“I’ll go get a mirror,” Jake says.

“Ugh, you guys are so gross,” Robbie says. “Here’s your phone, don’t stay up too late with the phone sex, we have a game tomorrow afternoon, young man.”

“Go away, Robbie!” Jake says.

“We’re not having phone sex,” David says, after Robbie walks backwards out the door holding his middle fingers up.

“I’m standing in Joe and Jenn’s backyard,” Jake says agreeably. “Seems like a party foul.”

“Even if you weren’t,” David says.

“I know,” Jake says. “I just wanted to wish you a happy new year. And talk next week. Plans for when you come. I mean, before you come over, not what comes — _not_ phone sex.”

“Oh my god, Jake,” David says, face hot. He is so glad Robbie’s not in the room.

“I’m sorry,” Jake says. “Champagne is my worst enemy. Plans. Not sex plans. Normal plans.”

“I don’t want it to be like last time,” David says. Last time ended up including six Panthers and five Capitals, and David felt tense the whole night between the bickering about the refereeing and the fact he ended up sitting beside a Panther he barely knew, an entire table away from Kiro and Jake and Robbie. Kiro made his way to David’s table one drink in, and Jake went back to David’s apartment after, but their time together during the season is limited enough that it had felt like a waste. “Like, the whole — everyone.”

“Just us?” Jake asks.

David hesitates.

“Volkie’s totally welcome too,” Jake says, before David says anything. “I know you don’t see each other much during the season.”

“ _We_ don’t see each other much during the season,” David says.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you ditch him for me,” Jake says. “It’s totally cool with me, just, like —”

“Like?” David prompts.

“He’s not invited to mine after, right?” Jake asks.

David laughs. “No,” he says. “Just me.”

“Okay, then he’s totally welcome,” Jake says. “I mean it. If you don’t invite him I will.”

“Fine,” David says. “I should sleep, I—”

“Big game tomorrow, I know,” Jake says. “Can’t wait to see you.”

“I saw you a week ago,” David points out, but. “Me too.”

*

David puts off talking to Kiro for the next few days. They text, but David feels unsure about calling him. He knows — Jake says what he means, mostly, but —

“I invited Volkie,” Jake says, the next time he calls David. “Just for the record.”

“Jake,” David says.

“What?” Jake says. “I told you I would if you didn’t. I’m not splitting up the bromance, babe.”

“Don’t call it a bromance,” David mutters. 

“Em had some better term for it,” Jake says. “I forget what it was, though. So, bromance.”

“It’s not a bromance,” David protests.

“It’s a beautiful bromance,” Jake says. “Anyway, I invited him, stop avoiding him.”

“I’m not avoiding him,” David says.

“He looks so sad,” Jake says.

“Fine,” David says. “I’ll call him, happy?”

“So happy,” Jake says.

It’s not — it’s not really about Jake. Jake didn’t like Kiro at first, that wasn’t exactly hidden, but they like each other now. They’re _team_. Sometimes David resents it, though he tries really hard not to.

It’s more —

David hasn’t played very well this season. He knows if he said it aloud there’d be immediate protests, maybe even pointing out what percentile he’s playing in, if it’s Dave, but David isn’t comparing himself to other players, he’s comparing himself to _himself_ , the player who got invited to Olympic training camp last year, and it’s not a good comparison. He’s afraid Hockey Canada will see that too.

David’s been frequently checking for any updates, even reading rumours, which he knows he shouldn’t be doing, knows is the opposite of helpful. If he makes the roster, he won’t be finding out from the internet, he’ll find out from Dave, or directly from Hockey Canada. Still. It’s a bad habit that’s hard to break.

He made training camp, which was more than last time, but that’s hardly a guarantee. He thinks he did well — he thinks he did _very_ well, but the level of talent was extremely high, and inevitably, good players are going to be cut. _Great_ players are going to be cut. It’d be the height of arrogance to assume he won’t be.

Kiro, with second line minutes and a second line chance to prove himself, made Team Russia’s training camp, and by all accounts — or Oleg’s account, which is all that matters — did extremely well. David’s happy for him, of course he is, he’s just not sure what he’d do if Jake and Kiro and Oleg all went to the Olympics, and he stayed back.

There’s no doubt in his mind that Jake will make Team USA, no doubt in his mind that Oleg will make Team Russia, and if Kiro makes it too, it’s —

It’s so petty, and he hates himself for thinking it, but he doesn’t know if he could handle it.

*

The day they fly to Florida, the Team USA and Team Russia rosters are announced. Jake sent him — and probably everyone else he knows — a barrage of smilies first thing in the morning, then sounded like the human version of that when David called to congratulate him. He’s heard nothing from Oleg, which isn’t surprising, since he’s sleeping off a bad case of the flu, nothing from Kiro, which is more concerning. His stomach is in knots as he reads through Team Russia’s roster, stays that way until he picks out two familiar names.

He isn’t sure what he expected to feel. Maybe the knot tightening.

All he feels is relief.

Kiro must be sleeping in, because he answers the phone with a grunt, Orange plaintively meowing in the background, presumably because Kiro dislodged her when he grabbed his phone. Her favourite place to sleep is on Kiro’s face. David has no idea how she hasn’t suffocated him yet.

“Congratulations,” David says. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Thought you’d — wanted to celebrate together,” Kiro says through a yawn. “When Canada finally announces.”

“I’m happy for you,” David says honestly. “I’m so happy for you.”

Kiro’s quiet for a moment. “Thank you,” he says finally, sort of soft, and David didn’t — it isn’t _his_ victory, but he is. He’s so happy. He doesn’t quite know what to do with the feeling.

*

They play in Tampa first, which isn’t unheard of, but David dislikes it, landing in Florida and still having to _wait_. He dislikes playing Tampa Bay too, but that’s mostly because they’re good, far better than the Panthers, and Washington loses to them as much as they win. 

He dislikes playing Boucher as well, as much for the attitude as the skill, showy and _French_ in a way David hasn’t seen so purely since Juniors, would never disparage aloud.

Still, he’s the only one David can really ask, and when warm-ups start David watches him stretch at centre ice, smirking and saying something to Quincy. When Quincy skates away David hesitates, but the twisting in his gut overrides the awkward feeling of asking, and he skates over to Boucher.

“Have you heard from Hockey Canada yet?” David asks, perhaps too abruptly.

“Nah,” Boucher says, then moves to stand. “Trust me, they’ll call like, an hour or two before they release it, they’re way too paranoid about leaks. And they always wait until everyone else’s roster is out in case they need to tweak it.”

Boucher made the roster last time, and he’s as close to a lock as anyone, with his recent stats, so David finds himself dimly comforted.

“Don’t worry,” Boucher says. “You’ll be on it.”

David shrugs. “I hope so,” he says.

“You will be,” Boucher says, and David doesn’t even mind when he pats his shoulder. 

David does mind when the Lightning shell them, and he does mind when Boucher celebrates a three goal lead with a ridiculously over the top celebration.

“Boucher’s a douche,” Jake says when David calls him after the game. “But he’s not wrong.”

“No?” David asks.

“Man I hope you’re not on his line,” Jake says.

David hadn’t even thought about that.

“We don’t even know if I’m making the team,” David reminds him.

“I really hope you’re not on his line,” Jake says.

“Me too,” David says.

*

They beat the Panthers. That’s unsurprising, but still gratifying, because they’re currently hovering in a wild card position, and David would really prefer not to play for their collective lives for the rest of the season. He’s gotten spoiled, playing for Washington. Contention isn’t the goal any longer, it’s the bare minimum.

He’s meeting Jake and Kiro after, not at the usual place, because it’s an open secret with the Caps by now. He tries not to rush through his routine. He’s sure it’d be obvious, and anyway, he doesn’t have to hurry, since he doesn’t have curfew.

David has had few conversations that made him as uncomfortable as asking Rutledge to make Sunrise his exception for curfew. Before the meeting he practiced the lie that wasn’t a lie over and over in his head until it was worn thin. “I have a lot of friends there,” was said to his mirror, the ceiling of his bedroom, Jake, who listened patiently through multiple iterations, Robbie, who snorted and repeated ‘friends’ while using finger quotes and then stuck his tongue in his cheek. 

Rutledge didn’t even ask why, in the end, just said “Yeah, no prob,” and David was left full of adrenaline and feeling like he’d just cheated his way through a test, not that he’d ever done that before.

David reminds Robbie that he’s cleared things with Rutledge, will meet the Caps for the flight out to Nashville, because he knows if someone’s wondering where he is, they’ll ask Oleg first, and then Robbie. Since Oleg’s still in Washington, it’d fall to Robbie by default.

“Off for your conjugal visit, gotcha,” Robbie says.

“That’s for prisoners,” David says.

“You’re a prisoner to _love_ ,” Robbie says, and ducks when David throws his glove at him.

“Don’t worry, man, I’ve got your back,” Robbie says. “Have a good birthday.”

“It’s tomorrow,” David says. “You’ll see me.”

“Yeah, but I hope your main man will make it extra good before I see you, if you know what I mean,” Robbie says, lowering his voice and then waggling his brows.

“I have another glove,” David threatens.

“Oh no, not another _glove_ ,” Robbie says. “Go make yourself pretty.”

“I thought I was already pretty,” David says. It’s not — he knows when Robbie says it that it doesn’t mean the same thing it meant in Benson’s mouth. Not even the same as it does in Jake’s. When Robbie says it, it sounds faintly annoyed, but mostly affectionate.

“Point,” Robbie says. 

*

After David’s finished showering and changing he heads directly to the place he’s meeting Jake and Kiro, since meeting up at the arena was just asking for other guys to invite themselves. David likes his team, David even likes the Panthers, mostly, at least off the ice, but it’s his birthday in just over an hour, he’s still on edge about the roster, and frankly, he just wants Jake and Kiro right now.

They’re already there, which is frankly amazing considering Jake’s the go-to for the media. David makes it about two steps in the door before Kiro jumps him, Jake hanging back until Kiro’s done, giving him a more deniable hug. It’s not really enough, but. They have later.

“Where’s Emily?” David asks, once they’ve gotten their drinks. He’d just assumed that when Jake invited Kiro he invited Emily too. Jake likes Emily. David likes Emily too, but Jake and Emily have bonded, even hang out without Kiro sometimes. Jake says she reminds him of his sister Allison, and David can see that.

“She is in Boston,” Kiro says. “Her cousin’s wedding is tomorrow.”

“And your wedding?” Jake asks. “It’s been what, ten years you’ve been together?”

“Shh,” Kiro says. “Shh, Jacobson. Davidson, tell Jacobson to shh.”

“I’m kind of curious too,” David admits.

“Shh,” Kiro says. “Shh.”

“If you liked it then you should’ve put a ring on it,” Jake says.

Kiro raises his eyebrows at him, mouth tipping up.

“Whatever, Kirillson,” Jake says, going red.

“Kirillovich,” David says.

“What?” Jake says.

Kiro grins at David. David grins back.

“Oh, Russian in joke, my bad,” Jake says.

“Honorary Russian,” Kiro says, patting David’s hand. 

“If Team Canada doesn’t take me, do you think Team Russia will?” David jokes.

Kiro and Jake give him identical annoyed looks.

“What?” David asks.

“Stop saying,” Kiro says, overlapping with Jake’s, “You’re going to make the team.”

“And if I don’t?” David asks.

“If you don’t, I am personally going to Hockey Canada headquarters and telling them to get their heads out of their asses,” Jake says. “Not even lying.”

“Me too. Road trip,” Kiro chimes in, then David watches as they link fingers over the table.

“What was that?” David says. “Is that some weird Panthers thing?”

“It was a pinkie swear,” Jake says, frowning at David. “We made a promise.”

“Obviously,” Kiro adds.

“Sorry, I wasn’t aware I was talking to _children_ ,” David says.

“Yes you were,” Kiro says.

“You totally were,” Jake agrees.

David rolls his eyes, tries to suppress a smile.

“He thinks we’re cute,” Kiro says in a loud whisper.

“The cutest,” Jake agrees.

“I hate that you two are friends,” David says.

“Liar,” Jake says. 

“So many lies from Davidson today,” Kiro says.

“And I hate both of you,” David scowls.

Kiro kicks him, Jake squeezes his thigh under the table, and David smiles down at the wood grain.

*

At five to midnight Kiro goes to the bar, comes back at midnight on the nose loudly humming ‘Happy Birthday’ while carefully balancing a tray of shots.

“Kiro, I don’t—” David says.

“It’s whisky,” Kiro says. “You sip, Jacobson and I shoot.”

“Oh,” David says. “Thank you.”

“Twenty-six,” Kiro says. “So old.”

“You’re turning thirty this year, right?” Jake asks.

“Fuck you,” Kiro says cheerfully.

“You too,” Jake says. “To David?”

“To David,” Kiro agrees, and they down two shots apiece in the time it takes David to carefully sip his way through one.

Kiro’s not drunk when they split ways — David doesn’t think he’s ever seen Kiro truly drunk, though Emily tells him it’s ‘epic’ — but he is tipsy, even more affectionate than usual. He kisses both David’s cheeks then holds him by the face tightly enough David figures he looks ridiculous.

“Love you,” Kiro says very seriously.

“You too,” David says, and shuts his eyes when Kiro kisses him on the forehead before getting into the Uber he’s called.

David’s half concerned that Jake’s going to be unhappy when he turns around, but he’s smiling. “Back to mine?” he asks.

“Yes,” David says. “Please.”

At some point, David’s going to get more than a couple feet in Jake’s apartment without his mouth attached to Jake’s. It isn’t today, but in his defence, weeks of absence then sitting beside him for hours in public without being able to touch him is foreplay and torture at the same time, and he’d rather not keep waiting.

They’ve gotten really good at shedding clothes while pulling back as little as possible — David thinks that might have been the most useful aspect of training with Jake last summer, the mix of coordination, concentration, and communication that means when he hits the bed they’re both down to their skin.

“What do you want?” Jake says. “Seriously, like, birthday sex, anything you want.”

“Um,” David says, suddenly self-conscious.

“If you what you want is not to have to tell me what you want, that is also totally cool,” Jake says.

David knows it’s a stupid time to think this, but — _fuck_ he loves him.

“That one,” David says.

“One fucking awesome birthday blowjob, coming up,” Jake says.

David laughs. “Arrogant,” he says.

“Like you’re gonna disagree,” Jake says confidently, and, no, David probably will not.

*

Yeah, he doesn’t disagree.

*

David’s birthday apparently means morning sex. David isn’t typically in favour of it, but that’s because he usually has somewhere to be, knows he won’t be able to enjoy himself if he’s worried about time. He doesn’t have to be anywhere until this afternoon, he isn’t going to see Jake for six weeks minimum. He can take the time.

“You are the most predictable person alive,” Jake says when David calls first shower after. “Use the green shampoo, it smells like you.”

It does smell like David’s shampoo. Not exactly, but close, faintly minty instead of whatever fruit Jake’s shampoo is supposed to smell like. David thinks about Jake sniffing shampoos in a drug store, trying to find the right one, and can’t help smiling.

“Someone called,” Jake calls out when David gets out of the shower.

“Did you see who?” David asks.

“Didn’t recognise the area code,” Jake says. “I looked it up and it was Calgary, though. That’s Hockey Canada HQ, right?”

“Oh shit,” David says, scrambling out of the bathroom to find Jake holding his phone out. There’s a voicemail from the President of Hockey Canada, curt, just identifying himself and giving David a number and extension to call. 

“I need a pen,” David says. 

“Pants first?” Jake says.

“Huh?” David says.

“Like, not that I mind the view, but I feel like you might want to be wearing pants for this,” Jake says. 

David looks down at himself, has to concede that a towel might not be appropriate attire.

He brought a change of clothes, but he’s too impatient to change into a suit, borrows a pair of Jake’s sweats, one of his few t-shirts that isn’t emblazoned with the logo of some team he’s played for. 

Jake gives him the thumbs up when he comes out of his room. “Want me to go somewhere else?” Jake asks.

“No,” David says. “That’s — stay?”

He doesn’t know if they call to officially reject players. Maybe that’s why the message was so terse. If it is rejection — he doesn’t know why he wants Jake to be there, but he does.

“Sure,” Jake says.

David listens to the message again, writes down the number. He takes a shaky breath, looking at it.

“I’m right here,” Jake says.

“Thank you,” David says, and dials.

David’s put through to a Ernst’s assistant first. It’s early, way earlier than normal business hours in Calgary, but David supposes it’s a fairly busy day. He waits, on hold, for a minute, trying not to fidget, thinking through what he’s supposed to say, how to take rejection gracefully, but the second the call’s transferred, he forgets every script he’s practiced, that he’s been taught.

“Mr. Ernst, it’s David Chapman,” David says. “Um. Of the Washington—”

“I know who you are, Chapman,” Ernst says, laughing a little.

“Sorry,” David says, “I was just um. I was in the shower when you called. I don’t know why I’m telling you that, sir. Sorry.”

Jake snorts audibly, then covers his mouth when David glares at him.

“That’s fine, son,” Ernst says. “We were just calling to ask if you’d like to play for Team Canada in PyeongChang.”

“Yes,” David says, almost before he’s finished saying it. “Yes, that’d — I’d be honoured, sir.”

“Wonderful,” Ernst says. “We’ll be sending your management the information — Dave Summers is your agent, right?”

“Yes, sir,” David says.

“We’ll send Summers the paperwork we need, insurance and all that, but we wanted to give you a call first, see if you were interested,” Ernst says.

“Has anyone ever said no?” David asks, disbelieving.

“Not yet,” Ernst says. “But it’s polite to ask.”

“Right,” David says. “Of course. Thank you so much for the opportunity.”

“I have to make a some more calls, but,” Ernst says.

“Right,” David says. “Of course. Thank you, sir.”

David hangs up, blinks twice.

“I’m not a genius or anything, but I’m thinking they want you,” Jake says.

“They want me,” David says, and it’s — strange, saying that, like it’s suddenly real now. 

“I don’t know if you said ‘thank you’ or ‘sorry’ or ‘sir’ more,” Jake says. “That was the most adorably Canadian conversation I’ve ever heard.”

“Shut up,” David scowls. “Like you didn’t say thank you.”

“I said ‘fuck yes’,” Jake says.

“No you didn’t,” David says.

“No I didn’t,” Jake says, then holds his arms out. “Come here.”

David walks right into them, pressing his forehead against Jake’s throat and letting out a shaky laugh. 

“I’m crazy proud of you,” Jake says into his hair.

“How’re you going to feel when we beat you?” David says.

“I’ll still be crazy proud _if_ you beat us,” Jake says. 

David looks up to eye him sceptically.

“Also maybe a little pissed, but still proud,” Jake says. “Seriously.”

“Thanks,” David murmurs.

“So, like, Hockey Canada totally kicked my ass at birthday presents,” Jake says, pulling away. “But I kind of figured they would, so. Do not tell Georgie or Robbie I did this, I’ll get in so much shit for being a traitor.”

He crouches over the couch, and David takes a split second to admire his ass in briefs before he gets distracted.

“Did you stuff a Team Canada jersey under your couch cushion?” David asks, aghast. That’s a rhetorical question, because Jake absolutely did, and he pulls it out with a flourish like a magician doing the handkerchief trick. David feels like a bad Canadian just watching him. “Have you been _sitting on Team Canada_?”

“Perfect hiding place,” Jake says, and David’s ready to retort, but when Jake shakes it out he sees his last name, his number, and he’s not sure what to say.

“You’re going to have your own, like, official one, but,” Jake says. “Thought I’d get the jump on it. And you might not get eleven, so I wanted to make sure you had one that had it.”

“What if they hadn’t called?” David asks.

“I knew they were going to,” Jake says. “They were supposed to release it today.”

“But what if they didn’t pick me?” David asks.

“I told you last night,” Jake says. “Me and Volkie, road trip to go yell at Hockey Canada. We pinkie swore on it.”

David laughs.

“Put it on,” Jake says.

“It feels — it’s not mine yet,” David says.

“It is,” Jake says. “You earned it. Put it on?”

David pulls it on over Jake’s shirt. It’s too loose, without padding under it, but it still feels — good. Right.

“I’m jinxing it or something,” David says, fights the urge to take it off, the urge to keep it on as long as he possibly can.

“David,” Jake says. “Hockey Canada literally called to tell you you’re one of the best players in the world.”

“In Canada, you mean,” David says.

“In the world,” Jake says. “And you know it.”

“Well, you are too, then,” David says.

“I’m not even close to as good as you,” Jake says.

“That’s not—” David says, frowning. “Don’t say that about yourself.”

“I’m not insulting myself or anything,” Jake says. “I’m just being realistic, here. When’s the last time I cracked top twenty?”

“You—” David starts.

“Not in hits,” Jake says, then grins. “Or penalty minutes.”

“Jake,” David says.

“You deserved to go first,” Jake says. “You deserved the Calder.”

“Don’t,” David says.

“It’s true,” Jake says.

“I don’t care,” David says.

“You don’t care?” Jake asks.

David — he doesn’t, he doesn’t think. Jake’s not _wrong_ , exactly, but.

“You’re — you’re the captain. Your team loves you,” David says. “Your fans love you. You ended up exactly where you should—”

Jake kisses him.

“I was saying nice things,” David says, a little sulky, when Jake pulls back, because he lost his train of thought.

“I know,” Jake says, then, grinning again. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“It’s not hard to say nice things about you,” David protests.

“Anymore,” Jake says.

“Anymore,” David admits.

Jake kisses him again, and David’s not sure he deserves one for that, but he’ll take it nonetheless. He always will.

*

David looks out the airplane window, but it’s pure darkness outside, and the only thing he sees is his own reflection. Beside him, Oleg’s sleeping with his head tipped back, mouth wide open, neck at a disconcerting angle. David takes a picture, considers who to send it to. Robbie would enjoy it, Kiro and Vladislav as well, but in the end David decides to just send it to Maria.

Scattered on the plane are players from six international teams, as many NHL teams. Not the Panthers — they left earlier with some of the other Southern teams. Before the flight Kiro had sent him a snap of him and Jake pulling faces, captioned ‘last time we are friends until someone wins’, and then a picture of them both frowning when David sent back ‘until Canada wins’.

David feels — not calm, exactly. The nerves will overwhelm him if he thinks too hard about the stakes, about what lies ahead of him, but for now, in the dim closed space of the cabin, the only sound Georgie murmuring something to Davies a row ahead of him, he feels almost…peaceful, he supposes.

David thinks about championships before, when he’d passed the trip there thinking of exactly what he wanted, picturing it so viscerally it was unfathomable it wouldn’t happen. Thinking about what he wanted at sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. That all he wanted was to serve the US defeat, to make them take it right between the teeth. To make Jake take it. That he wanted that even more than he wanted to win.

He still — he wants to win, he won’t apologise for that, not ever, and he won’t feel guilty if he does, but if they do face the US, if he does face Jake — he’ll be happy to win, but he doesn’t think he’ll feel that sharp, dark satisfaction he used to. He thinks it’ll feel good, and he hopes for it, and he wants it badly, but. He wants to earn it. He wants them to earn it. And if they don’t earn it, if they don’t deserve it, then, well.

That’s fine. Or — it’s not, it’s not fine, but. It’s okay.

*

“May the best team win,” David said to Jake before they left, and for the first time, he thinks he actually truly meant it.

**Author's Note:**

> That's all folks.
> 
> This is far from the last I'll write about David Chapman and the people who love him (they will live on in ficlets forever, probably) but this is the end of _between the teeth_.
> 
> (Also: my [tumblr](http://youcouldmakealife.tumblr.com) includes a huge amount of supplementary material on the _you could make a life_ 'verse, including _between the teeth_.)


End file.
